Page images
PDF
EPUB
[blocks in formation]
[blocks in formation]
[blocks in formation]

By me, when I behold Him not,
Or love Him not when I behold,
Be all I ever knew forgot-

My pulse stand still, my heart grow cold;
Transformed to ice, 'twixt earth and sky,
On yonder cliff my form be seen,
That all may ask, but none reply,
What my offence hath been.

JAMES MONTGOMERY.

To the Evening Star.

STAR that bringest home the bee,
And sett'st the weary laborer free!
If any star shed peace, 'tis thou,

That send'st it from above,
Appearing when Heaven's breath and brow

Are sweet as hers we love.

Come to the luxuriant skies,
Whilst the landscape's odors rise,

Whilst, far off, lowing herds are heard,
And songs when toil is done,
From cottages whose smoke unstirred
Curls yellow in the sun.

Star of love's soft interviews,
Parted lovers on thee muse;
Their remembrancer in Heaven

Of thrilling vows thou art,

Too delicious to be riven,
By absence, from the heart.

Then wander o'er city and sea and land, Touching all with thine opiate wandCome, long-sought!

When I arose and saw the dawn,

I sighed for thee;

When light rode high, and the dew was gone,
And noon lay heavy on flower and tree,
And the weary Day turned to her rest,
Lingering like an unloved guest,
I sighed for thee!

Thy brother Death came, and cried,
"Wouldst thou me?"

Thy sweet child Sleep, the filmy-eyed,
Murmured like a noontide bee,
"Shall I nestle near thy side?
Wouldst thou me?"- And I replied,
"No, not thee!"

Death will come when thou art dead,
Soon, too soon

Sleep will come when thou art fled:
Of neither would I ask the boon
I ask of thee, beloved Night-
Swift be thine approaching flight,
Come soon, soon!

PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY.

To Night.

THOMAS CAMPBELL.

SWIFTLY walk over the western wave,
Spirit of night!

Out of the misty eastern cave,
Where, all the long and lone daylight,
Thou wovest dreams of joy and fear
Which make thee terrible and dear-
Swift be thy flight!

Wrap thy form in a mantle gray,
Star-inwrought;

Blind with thine hair the eyes of Day,
Kiss her until she be wearied out;

Moonrise.

WHAT stands upon the highland?
What walks across the rise,

As though a starry island

Were sinking down the skies?

What makes the trees so golden?
What decks the mountain side,

Like a veil of silver folden

Round the white brow of a bride?

The magic moon is breaking,

Like a conqueror, from the east,
The waiting world awaking
To a golden fairy feast.

She works, with touch ethereal,
By changes strange to see,
The cypress, so funereal,
To a lightsome fairy tree;

[blocks in formation]

But may all Nature smile with aspect boon, When in the heavens thou show'st thy face, O harvest Moon!

'Neath yon lowly roof he lies,

The husbandman, with sleep-sealed eyes:
He dreams of crowded barns, and round
The yard he hears the flail resound;
Oh! may no hurricane destroy

His visionary views of joy!

TO NIGHT.

God of the winds! oh, hear his humble prayer,

And while the Moon of Harvest shines, thy blustering whirlwind spare.

Sons of luxury, to you

Leave I Sleep's dull power to woo;

Press ye still the downy bed,

While feverish dreams surround your head;

I will seek the woodland glade,

Penetrate the thickest shade,

Wrapped in Contemplation's dreams,
Musing high on holy themes,

While on the gale

Shall softly sail

The nightingale's enchanting tune,

And oft my eyes

Shall grateful rise

To thee, the modest Harvest Moon!

To Night.

101

MYSTERIOUS Night! when our first parent knew
Thee from report divine, and heard thy name,
Did he not tremble for this lovely frame,
This glorious canopy of light and blue?
Yet 'neath the curtain of translucent dew,
Bathed in the rays of the great setting flame,
Hesperus with the host of heaven came,
And lo! creation widened in man's view.

Who could have thought such darkness lay concealed

Within thy beams, O Sun! or who could find,
While fly, and leaf, and insect lay revealed,
That to such countless orbs thou mad'st us blind!
Why do we, then, shun Death with anxious strife?—
If Light can thus deceive, wherefore not Life?

JOSEPH BLANCO WHITE.

HENRY KIRKE WHITE.

Night Song.

THE moon is up in splendor,
And golden stars attend her;

The heavens are calm and bright;
Trees cast a deepening shadow,
And slowly off the meadow

A mist is rising silver-white.

Night's curtains now are closing
Round half a world reposing
In calm and holy trust.
All seems one vast still chamber,
Where weary hearts remember

No more the sorrows of the dust.
MATTHIAS CLAUDIUS. (German.)

Translation of C. T. BROOKS.

Song.-The Owl.

WHEN cats run home and light is come,
And dew is cold upon the ground,
And the far-off stream is dumb,
And the whirring sail goes round,
And the whirring sail goes round;
Alone and warming his five wits,
The white owl in the belfry sits.

When merry milkmaids click the latch, And rarely smells the new-mown hay, And the cock hath sung beneath the thatch Twice or thrice his roundelay,

Twice or thrice his roundelay;

Alone and warming his five wits,
The white owl in the belfry sits.

SECOND SONG-TO THE SAME.

THY tuwhits are lulled, I wot,

Thy tuwhoos of yester night,
Which upon the dark afloat,

So took echo with delight,
So took echo with delight,
That her voice, untuneful
grown,
Wears all day a fainter tone.

« ՆախորդըՇարունակել »